


The Sybil & Sam Collection - Behind Closed Doors

by MistressParamore



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Family, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Gen, Het, Home, Love, Love Confessions, Making Love, One True Pairing, Private Life, Squee, True Love, otp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-18
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 13:46:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 20,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressParamore/pseuds/MistressParamore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a series of vignettes looking at various moments in the lives of Sam Vimes and Lady Sybil Ramkin. Mainly squee and fluff, some hotter moments but nothing that needs a rating change :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Late

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

**Chapter 1 – Late**

Vimes heard the cacophony of bells begin their toll across the city with an inward groan. He quickly increased his pace up Scoone Avenue, knowing that yet again he was late home. He closed his eyes thinking of Sybil's face. She wouldn't say anything, he knew that, nor would she look disappointed or sigh. The fact that she would not betray any emotion somehow made it worse.

Vimes cautiously pushed open the heavy front door, cringing as the click seemed somehow thunderously loud. He found himself hoping desperately that she was out in the dragon pens and therefore wouldn't notice how late he was. Futile hope, he realized, as Sybil appeared at the far end of the hall.

"Sybil, I'm sorry," he began, holding his hands out in a placating gesture.

"Sam," she interrupted. "I know." She smiled gently. "It's ok, I know what you're like with work. If I didn't understand I wouldn't have married you." She walked towards him and Vimes noticed that she seemed more….dressy….than usual. Stopping in front of him, Sybil reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair softly. Her smile widened at his obvious confusion.

"You're home now, that's all I care about." Sybil leaned forward and kissed him lightly, as he eagerly reciprocated she deepened the kiss.

As Vimes wrapped his arms around his wife with enthusiasm, he realized that there was nowhere he would rather be.


	2. Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sybil finds a pleasant view...

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

_Sybil thinks of Sam…._

* * *

**Chapter 2 – Mine**

Sybil Ramkin opened her eyes and saw the tousled blankets to her side. A quick glance revealed Sam's clothes haphazardly dropped on the bed room floor, Sybil blushed slightly as she remembered the previous evening. The blush transformed into a wide, soft smile. He had been so romantic, so loving, so unsure and afraid of overstepping some invisible line. She snuggled deeper into the bed, inhaling Sam's scent and feeling the warmth spread all over her. She opened her eyes as a faint murmuring drifted in through the partially open window, and, curious, she got out of bed and padded over to the window. Peering out at the drive below the window, she saw Sam talking to Sergeant Colon. She smiled as she looked down upon the back of Sam, who was dressed in nothing more than his briefs and a hastily thrown on shirt.

Her gaze fixed on the back of his neck, where his dark brown hair nestled against the collar of the shirt he had thrown on. The change over Sam was quite dramatic when she discovered the sensitivity he had for that particular spot. A few light kisses brushed against the back of his neck, and the usually irascible Captain was transformed into a purring pussycat. She doubted he would appreciate that particular piece of information being made common knowledge to his men, not that she ever would.

Her keen eye roamed further over Sam's form, which was now gesticulating with some force. She noted the muscles rippling across his shoulders with a deep smile, remembering the feel of those muscles close against her and under her eager lips. She remembered unbuttoning his shirt and feasting her eyes upon his muscled chest, tracing the thin line of hair down his abdomen.

Sybil turned away from her musings and the window in some surprise as a voice startled her.

Sam shut the door behind him and dropped his shirt to the floor.

"Now, where were we?"


	3. Prevarication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam really, really doesn't want to to the party...

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

**Warning...so much squee it just might be a good idea to warn people around you first!**

* * *

_**Sam really, really doesn't want to go to the party...** _

* * *

**Chapter 3 - Prevarication**

Vimes yanked open his wardrobe and glared at its contents, pointedly ignoring the ducal regalia Willikins had laid out ready for him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sybil enter the room from their adjacent bathroom, wrapped only in a fluffy white towel. Parts of Vimes that had lain dormant until he met his wife, stirred eagerly. Clamping down on them, Vimes returned his attention to ignoring his ducal dress, knowing full well Sybil's 'Views' on his avoidance of said dress.

It was no use. Sybil's warm fragrance was wafting over the bed as she dried herself and applied body cream. The towel dropped slightly as Sybil bent over to dry her legs, giving Vimes an unrestricted view of her magnificent cleavage. Vimes felt his blood burn as he took in the view.  _If only she knew what she does to me..._

Abandoning his pretence, Vimes prowled around the bed until he was standing behind his blissfully unaware wife. Reaching around her, he tugged the towel out of her hands. "How am I supposed to concentrate when I have you standing here, looking like  _this_?" Vimes whispered hotly in her ear.

Sybil turned in surprise, eyes widening. "Sam?"

"I've got a better idea of what we can do," Vimes murmured against her lips as he kissed her. "And it doesn't involve getting dressed or boring conversation."

Sybil's laugh turned rapidly to a sigh of pleasure as Vimes applied himself to proving to his wife exactly why they should give the party a miss.

 


	4. Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds himself in unfamiliar territory and guess who notices!  
> Just a very short eavesdrop into a certain conversation...

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

_Sam finds himself in unfamiliar territory...and guess who notices!_

_Just a very short eavesdrop into a certain conversation._

* * *

**Chapter 4 - Happy**

"I'm telling you," Nobby Nobbs insisted. "it ain't normal."

Sergeant Colon ummed and ahh'ed, rearranging his armour to sit more comfortably on his ample stomach. "The Captain isn't even happy after a bottle of Bearhugger's, Nobby. He don't know  _how_  to do happy." Colon glanced uneasily around to make sure they were definitely alone. He may be many things, but Colon wasn't suicidal.

"But Sarge," Nobby quavered, "he were humming! It ain't right, the Cap'n being cheerful like that, with no warning!"

"Now, Nobby," Colon began, before he was silenced by Captain Vimes entering the room. Both junior watchmen tried to act as nonchalant as possible.

"Morning Sergeant!" Vimes picked up his coffee mug, raising it in Colon's general direction, before retreating back up the stairs to his office.

Colon managed to make his slack jaw muscles work just in time for a weak "Morning Sir," as Vimes's back disappeared up the stairs.

"I tole you!" Nobby was nearly dancing on the spot. "I tole you!"

"Bloody hell," was all Colon could manage as he stared dumbfounded after his superior.

Up in his office, Vimes grinned to himself. He knew what Nobby and Colon would be doing and saying, but he didn't care. In fact, the world could explode and he wouldn't be bothered. As long as he had a pair of deep brown eyes to lose himself in and the soft, intimate smile she reserved just for him, he didn't care  _what_  the future held.

 


	5. Cookery or Out of the Frying Pan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sybil wants to impress Sam

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

_This was just an idea that cam to me whilst travelling back from work!_

_Sybil wants to impress Sam…._

* * *

**Chapter 5 – Cookery or '** _**Out of the frying pan…** _ **'**

Sybil set her jaw with grim determination. She could  _do_  this. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled slowly in an attempt to bring cleansing equilibrium to her blood stream. Opening her eyes, she stared into the kitchen cupboard blankly. Feeling irritation rise, she swept a hand through her mass of chestnut curls. An array of cooking paraphernalia stared accusingly back at her. What exactly was that flat pan thing? And who  _knew_  there were so many types of pan? What the jiminy was that thing with holes? What did they all do?

"Think, woman, think!" she commanded herself. Steeling herself, she thrust out a confident hand and grabbed the first pan-handle she encountered and the first utensil from the drawer. Unfortunately for her, it turned out to be an egg whisk. She bit her lip in an agony of indecision and decided that you couldn't really go wrong with a knife. Placing the whisk back in the drawer, she lifted out a large and deadly looking carving knife. After a few moments of indecision, she put it back and lifted out a spoon.

"Oh for the love of Io," she muttered to herself, feeling herself flush in unaccustomed worry and panic.

Glancing down at the utensils grasped tightly in her hands, she felt some of her legendary confidence return. She placed them smartly on the counter next to the stove and realised she had yet to navigate the perilous waters of...wherever the food was kept. Ah...  _Who knew it was this difficult?_  Sybil wailed to herself.

Systematically, Sybil opened every cupboard and door she could find, peering hopefully into the cavernous interiors of the Ramkin kitchen.

Aha! Sybil exulted to herself after a slightly sweaty half hour of trying to locate the bacon. Now there was just the issue of finding the eggs...

Sybil's shoulders slumped as she turned over the egg in her fingers. What the blue blazes was she meant to do with it? In her experience, fried eggs came...just as that. Fried. Tasty and well done, with nice crispy edges. Its raw state wasn't something she'd ever had to concern herself with, unless you were talking about dragon's eggs, but she didn't tuck into one of them of a morning. She sighed, screwed her eyes up tight and smashed it into the saucepan she had ready on the counter. The ancient cast iron stove had truly flummoxed her. She had poked, prodded, cranked levers and even resorted to kicking it and using some of her grandfather's more colourful expletives, but to no avail. It remained stubbornly unlit. Sybil refused to be beaten. In what she considered to be an unmitigated stroke of genius, she hurried off down to the dragon pens and picked up an adolescent dragon, which looked inquisitively at her as she clamped it firmly under one arm.

"Don't worry Peregrine Brightscale Flamethrust IV. You're helping mummy."

Triumphantly entering the kitchen once more, Sybil placed the small dragon on the counter next to the saucepan which now held one smashed egg and most of the shell. Sybil poked worriedly at it with a fork. It didn't seem to look right, for some reason. Taking a small lump of coal from her pocket, Sybil tossed it to the dragon, which greedily caught it and blew a jet of flame over the saucepan excitedly, flapping its juvenile wings. Peering into the saucepan, Sybil saw that the egg had cooked. Scraping the mound of shell-flecked rubber onto a plate, Sybil bit her lip. How much bacon? What do you DO with it? Mentally shrugging, she dumped the entire pack of bacon rashers into the same pan she had used for the egg. Another couple of nuggets of coal later, and a pleasant bacon aroma wafted around the kitchen.

"Well they look done," Sybil murmured as the small charcoal strips fell out of the pan and onto the plate. She appraised the plate of food in front of her. It definitely didn't look like any food she'd ever had before. Sybil rallied. At least she'd tried and he should be jolly grateful.

Seizing the plate, Sybil squared her shoulders, marched in the direction of her bedroom and knocked tentatively on the door.

"Here you are! I've brought you something jolly nourishing." She smiled encouragingly as Captain Vimes sat up, wincing in pain. Her smile grew in intensity as he ate the rubbery egg - complete with shell - and incinerated bacon with every sign of enjoyment. Her cooking might just have found her perfect man.

* * *


	6. Knitting or A Stitch in Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sybil finds domesticity a little harder than she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably set somewhere around Jingo.

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

_ _Sybil finds domesticity a little harder than she thought…._ _

_Probably set somewhere around Jingo._

* * *

**Chapter 6 –** _**Knitting** _ **, or,** _**A Stitch in Time** _

_Knit one, purl one, knit one, purl one..._

The soft click of the knitting needles was the only sound in the softly lit drawing room, the fire in the huge grate having died down to a muted glow of smouldering embers hours ago. Sybil sighed, the knitting falling unheeded into her lap, eyes automatically seeking out the old grandfather clock on the far wall. The genteel ticking had many years ago faded from her conscious mind, weaving itself into the very fabric of the house.

Rows of Ramkin ancestors observed their descendent from their golden frames, powerfully built men in battle armour raising their chin in haughty defiance, women no less defiant but in more appropriate poses next to flowers or resplendent in acres of jewelry. Each and every one wreathed in utter self confidence, keeping the home fires burning til the last.

Sybil sighed again and toyed listlessly with the wool in her lap. It seemed so, alien, so  _mundane_ , to be knitting. Even with her inexpert eye she could tell things were going very badly wrong indeed with the garment.

She had set out with high hopes of making a nice jumper for Sam, or possibly just a scarf for starters. What was beginning to become distressingly apparent was that the garment appeared to be a mutant hybrid of both, and would look splendid upon someone with three, very short, arms and next to no body. Grumpily, she dropped the wool and needles into the basket next to her. She was a Ramkin through and through, and Ramkin women-folk didn't sit at home twiddling their thumbs waiting for their husbands. Sybil was a do-er, a practical woman. She knew how lucky she was to have Sam, he didn't go off to inter-continental wars all the time, he carried the flame of justice and truth in the same manner an athlete would train to be at the very pinnacle of their game. As such, what she  _could_  be was to be the very best wife she could. It didn't stop her missing him with every breath and every waking thought, and she hoped he missed her, but asking him to stop would be like asking him to stop breathing.

She smiled tenderly as she thought of his usual look of simmering anger at the world, bewilderment at the stupidity of people and a grim determination to get to the truth. No, all of this made Sam what he was. Holding him at night, she knew he was her protector, her defender and  _her_  husband.

"Be safe," she whispered into the encroaching darkness. "Be safe and come home to me."


	7. A Pregnant Pause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sybil receives some unexpected news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set just before The Fifth Elephant.

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

_Sybil receives some unexpected news._

_Set just before The Fifth Elephant._

* * *

**Chapter 7 –** _**A Pregnant Pause** _

"Are...are you  _sure_?" even as she said it Sybil knew how ridiculous it sounded. Her scattered senses were resolutely refusing to be pulled together.

The old woman seated opposite her gave her a look that could only be described as old fashioned. In fact, it wouldn't have looked out of place on an ammonite.

"Lady Ramkin, it is definite. You are with child. Congratulations."

Mrs Content gave Sybil a small smile and stood up, brushing her skirt down automatically.

"There is no reason why you won't have a perfectly healthy pregnancy. Your mother had no trouble, nor her mother."

Mrs Content nodded slightly at the shell shocked aristocrat and quietly saw herself out.

Sybil barely heard the other woman leave, her thoughts in a whirl. Up until now, thinking of children had been as unlikely as...well...getting married. Sybil had been one of those girls who was large and kind. Most unfortunately for a female aristocrat, she also had a brain and her own opinion. She had discovered early on that aristocratic gentlemen didn't like ladies with opinions that differed from theirs. Instead of moping about it, she had jolly well got on with things with her usual good humour and devoted her heart to the part of the population that was scaly with a tail and breathed fire.

And then... Sam happened. Dragons, of all things, brought Sam into her life. The woman whom all of Ankh-Morpork society believed was not only on the shelf but mad as well, fell head over heels for the permanently drunk and angry Captain of the Night Watch. People thought Sybil was slightly stupid, being large and brought up from the moment she could talk to listen, gave people the wrong idea. She was anything but, and she saw further than most with regard to Sam.

Now? Now, a future that both had thought would contain just the two of them, was now to become three. The evidence would shortly become visible to all that they had quite a healthy sex life. At that thought Sybil snorted slightly, certain individuals would most definitely choke on their single malt whiskies at the very idea.

But...a  _ **baby**_? She was going to have a baby? In her  _40s_? God she wasn't ready for this, had never had to think about it. Torn between joy and fear, for possibly the first time in her life Sybil felt lost and out of control. She had no mother to turn to, no sisters, she couldn't trust any of her friends to keep a secret and she really didn't know what to do. She couldn't deny that she was excited, she wouldn't be an aristocrat if the thought of her lineage hadn't gone through her mind, however fleetingly. Now she had to find Sam and hope he would listen...oh gods,  _how was she going to tell Sam_?

 


	8. Dutch Courage or Do you? I Do…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vimes discovers how brave he can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set just after Guards! Guards!

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

_Vimes discovers just how brave he can be….._

_Set after Guards! Guards!_

* * *

**Chapter 8 –** _**Dutch Courage** _ **or** _**Do you? I Do…** _

For the hundredth time Vimes' feet seemed to wander of their own accord towards the exclusive and refined shop on the Street of Cunning Artificers. And  _there_  it was. The reason for all of his restless energy for the past few weeks. Something that, as soon as he had seen it, had seemed to breathe her name. It was exquisite, a word Vimes didn't usually use, but none other fitted for this item. His breath misted on the glass as he continued to gaze at it. He knew, just  _knew_ , she would love it - it was understated but elegant without being ostentatious, it was her favourite colour (a dark pink), and it didn't need to be showy to command attention. Everything that made Sybil, in fact. Vimes couldn't afford it though. Could never afford it. Heart heavy, Vimes calculated that in about 5 years he could buy it, and that was  _without_  interest. A dark head poked out of the low doorway and looked him up and down.

Vimes stared back at the elderly gentleman with his eyes narrowed. Perhaps, he  **could**  manage it...

* * *

"Sam?" Sybil glanced over the cruet at Vimes worriedly. He hadn't said a word for the entire meal, the starter might be excusable but not the whole main course too. If she'd wanted a meal on her own she wouldn't have asked him. The man seemed to have a permanently manic look on his face and she was sure he was sweating slightly. If she didn't know better she would swear he was a man in the grip of some acute attack of nerves.

Sighing, she tried again. "Sam?"

Vimes jumped, his knife bouncing off the plate.

"Sorry, sorry" he said hurriedly, bending to retrieve his errant knife.

"Let's leave dinner and take our drinks through to the drawing room," Sybil smiled at him and furrowed her brows slightly as the manic grin slid back across his face.

Willikins poured some vintage wine for them both and withdrew quietly, closing the door behind him. Sybil picked up her glass and turned around to Vimes who was seated next to her on the sofa…. or he  _had_  been.

"Sybil?"

Lady Ramkin's mouth dropped open in a rather pretty 'o'.

Vimes was kneeling in front of her, on one knee, holding an open ring box in which nestled an exquisitely crafted ring with dark pink stones capturing the flickering candlelight and seeming to dance in the box. She was prepared to overlook the nervous figure of eight the box was making - it just endeared him more,although she would never tell him.

Swallowing hard and with his mouth suddenly feeling like sawdust, Vimes made possibly the most important speech of his life.

"Sybil, you are more than I could ever have allowed myself to dream. Will you do me the greatest honour of my life and become my wife?"

Some moments don't need words.

The following kiss told Vimes everything he needed to know.

 


	9. Shoulder Pats or How Not To Comfort Your Wife...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shock in Uberwald proves to be a little too much for Sybil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during The Fifth Elephant.

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

**Music:**

_Radiohead - Street Spirit (fade out)_

_I don't know why, but this song came on as I was writing this. The really strange thing is that it is a really atmospheric accompaniment. Listen to it!_

* * *

_A shock in Uberwald proves to be a little too much for Sybil._

_Set during The Fifth Elephant_

_***Warning: Major squee alert!*** _

* * *

**Chapter 9 –** _**Shoulder pats** _ **or** _**How not to comfort your wife** _

"I'm sorry Sam, it was just so horrible!"

 _ **She's**_ _apologising to_ _ **me**_ _? For letting_ _ **me**_ _down? Oh gods, I feel awful, she thinks she's failed me somehow_.

Red hot embarrassment and anger at himself for not being able to comfort his wife twisted hotly in his gut. The inn-keepers wife was nailing him to the wall with a pair of piercing brown eyes as she took Sybil's hand. He was failing in the husband quotient fast, next to him Sybil sniffled as she tried to stem her tears. Unbidden, his hand rose and * _pat_ ,  _pat_ * he patted Sybil's shoulder in an ineffectual gesture of comfort. The embarrassment morphed into impotent horror as he registered the slightly embarrassed and disapproving looks of the captive audience in the inn.

"Cheery!" he yelled. * _pat, pat_ *

"Dammit!" * _pat, pat_ *

* * *

As Vimes closed the bedroom door behind him, he saw his wife sitting on the edge of their - very comfortable looking - bed. Her face was wet with tears, shoulders shaking, and she hadn't even changed out of her ripped dress. With the rest of the world locked out for the night, the only mask Sam Vimes wanted to be wearing right now was the husbandly one, and all of his husbandly senses were screaming like hell.

With two strides he was at Sybil's side, pulling her into a tight embrace and murmuring soothing sounds as she cried into his chest.

"I just can't seem to stop," she hiccupped softly, a sound Vimes realised he thought was absolutely adorable.

Vimes said nothing, continuing to softly rub her shoulders and back in soothing circles. He felt her give a deep sigh against him and he looked down at her with a small smile. She smiled back up at him, the smile that he would tear down the world to protect.

Moving as one, they both lay back on the bed, Vimes pulling his wife close against him and feeling her lay her head on his chest, hand splayed.

Closing his eyes, his hands roamed up and down her back and sides unconsciously, feeling her sensual curves beneath his questing fingers. A movement on his chest made him open his eyes as Sybil pulled back slightly, holding his gaze she leaned in, gently kissing his neck softly, stroking the sensitive flesh with her lips.

Drawing in a sharp breath at the jolt of electricity her lips caused, he gently cupped her chin and tugged her face towards his. As their lips met, nothing else in the world existed.

 


	10. A Well Dressed Man or Why Sybil Likes The Tights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sybil's unique approach to Sam's Ducal regalia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little hotter than other chapters, but nothing graphic.

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

_Sybil's unique approach to Sam's Ducal regalia._

* * *

**Chapter 10 –** _**A well-dressed man** _ **or** _**why Sybil likes the tights…** _

"Sybil, no. Not the tights." How the hell were you supposed to be taken seriously as a watchman wearing burgundy tights? AND shoes with stupid buckles? Armour that looked as if it had never seen a dent and a sword with no notches on the blade…..  _please_. All of this added up to someone who sat in a stuffy, pompous office all day with no chin and a hee-hawing voice. Definitely  _not_  Sam Vimes.

"Sam, the tights stay. They're part of your uniform, you know that. It's only for the function after the parade, then you can get changed. " Sybil gave her husband a LOOK. Sam knew that look, it told him in no uncertain terms that unless he co-operated Sybil could make his life difficult in some extremely inventive ways. He quailed. He stared at the tights again and groaned. Extremely slowly he began tugging the hateful tights up his legs. Sybil was already dressed, he noted sourly. Women never had to wear hateful outfits, they wore dresses and tiaras and always looked good. Their day outfits and night outfits didn't change much except maybe a bit fussier, more frills.

Sybil was resplendent in a midnight blue gown, with ample cleavage and a magnificent diamond necklace perfectly framing what Sam immediately noticed as being a breath taking view. Tearing his eyes away from his wife with difficulty, he continued tugging on the tights until they were in place.

Only….there was now a  _significant_  problem. One that unless Sybil changed her outfit  _very_  soon wasn't going to go in the immediate future.

"Well?" Sybil asked, a touch impatiently. "How does it look?"

Sam coughed, embarrassed, his back still to Sybil. "They're very, um, tight?" He called over his shoulder.

"They're meant to be, dear." Sam could hear the smile in her voice. "Turn around and let me see, Sam."

"No," he said in a small voice.

"What? What's wrong with them?"

Sam felt as if his face was going to catch fire. His predicament wasn't lessening, in fact he could feel it getting worse. Everything about his wife was concentrating all in one place, and he really daren't turn around again because seeing her looking so glorious and so beautiful would send him in to the land of no return.

"Sam? For goodness sake, stop being silly." He heard a rustle of silk moving closer and a delicate waft of perfume floated past.  _Oh gods_. Now his olfactory senses had kicked in and…. _ohgodohgodohgodohgod_ …he felt like he was drowning in a sea of sensuality.

Her soft hand landed on his shoulder and he could feel her heat through her dress and his jacket, all combining to send his blood pressure even higher.

With firm pressure she pulled him around.

"Oh…."

"I  **did**  say…." he said wretchedly, not looking up at her.

"Oh Sam," she murmured. But it wasn't a comment borne of exasperation, as he thought it would be. No, it was quite the opposite. She stepped closer, their bodies barely millimetres apart, most definitely not helping Sam's equilibrium.

Twining her hands around his neck and pulling their bodies flush together, Sybil smiled up at her husband. Feeling his reaction to her was sending her pulse racing and the relentless ticking of the clock was the very last thing on her mind.

Dropping her hand softly to the front of his tights, Sybil softly explored the organic lines stretching the fabric. As her husband groaned, Sybil whispered in his ear, "you know Sam, I REALLY do like these tights…"

* * *


	11. Birthday Girl or What To Get The Woman Who Has Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is in a quandry. A very uniquely female type quandary.

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

_Sam is in a quandary. A very uniquely female type quandary…_

_*****Enough squee to make candy-floss come out of your ears!***** _

* * *

**Chapter 11 –** _**Birthday girl** _ **or** _**What to get the woman who has everything** _

For Sam Vimes this may well be the part of the map labeled  _incognito_  or  _Here Be Dragons_. Although in the latter case that wouldn't worry Sybil. He looked at his left hand ruefully – already he had chewed his way through three fingernails and it was only 10.30 in the morning. The reason for Sam's preoccupation was simple (or complicated, depending firstly, on your sex, and secondly, on your point of view.) It was Sybil's birthday and, well, not to put too fine a point on it, she already had  _everything_ , and had for hundreds of years. What could he possibly buy her that she would want or possibly need? He was baffled. No, he was more than baffled, he was flummoxed.

With a shudder, he remembered Fred Colon's well meaning words of advice.

"Wimmin, Sir, they don't tell you want they want, they leave you to guess." He contemplated his pint reflectively. Remembering how Mrs. Colon behaved around her birthday, he brightened slightly. "Get what she says she  _doesn't_  want," he declared, waving his now empty pint of Old Peculiar at the grubby-aproned landlord. "Well known fact, Sir."

"What she says she  _doesn't_  want?" Vimes had echoed doubtfully.

"'S right," Colon made to tap his nose meaningfully, but missed.

Sam sighed and continued his trudge. Carrot had been just as bad.

"Make her feel special, Sir! It's  _her_  day, after all. Whatever you do, she will love i'm sure of it!" Carrot radiated sincerity in waves. "Chocolates, wine, a small gift…"

 _Yes, you really are, aren't you_ , Vimes thought in the privacy of his own head.

He had contemplated asking Nobby, but had immediately discounted that idea with a reflexive shudder. The thought of his leering face had been more than enough to stall that thought in its tracks.

So, Sam thought to himself, what were Sybil's hobbies. Dragons. Dragons?  _Dragons_. Blast. Rich aristocrat who hasn't had to buy anything in years.  _Oh gods_. She's your fiancée, you must be able to buy her a birthday present!  _Think_ , he commanded himself. Almost of their own volition, his feet began to make their way back up to Scoone Avenue.  _Perhaps, if I approach this from a different angle_ ….

* * *

"What are you doing?" Sybil asked curiously.

"If I told you, I'd have to arrest you!"

"Sam!"

"Just a little further…"

"Can I take the blindfold off now?"

"No!"

Sam ushered Sybil into the dining room. A quick word with Willikins and the cook had been invaluable. Even he was pleased with the results and the most he knew about flowers was that one end went in the ground.

He didn't know how they'd done it, but every surface was covered either in rose petals or holding an exquisite array of seasonal blooms. The dining table was scattered with red and white rose petals, candles, a bottle of champagne was chilling in a bucket and….. _oh yes_ ….there was just one more thing…..

He guided Sybil to stand by the head of the table and disappeared back into the hall. Silently, four men entered and took their seats at the far end of the room. At a nod from Sam, they picked up their violins and viola and began to softly play.

"You can take the blindfold off now," he murmured in Sybil's ear.

Tugging it off quickly, her mouth dropped open as she saw the decorated room, the candles throwing a soft light, and took in the string quartet playing in the background.

Smiling gently at his fiancée, Sam took her hand and squeezed it.

"I didn't know what to get the woman who has everything," he began. Sybil opened her mouth to speak but Sam stopped her.

"Then I thought, actions speak louder than words, and I wanted to  _show_  you."

He tugged her close and wrapped his arms around her.

"Happy birthday, Sybil."

Her smile was lost in the kiss that descended upon her lips.

* * *


	12. Continental Delight or Who said food was just for eating?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sybil takes Sam to the Continental Market...

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

_Sybil tells Sam she'd like to visit the Continental Market…._

_**Surely Sam has to get something out of it?** _

* * *

**Chapter 12 –** _**Continental Delight** _ **or** _**Who said food was just for eating?** _

"But Sam," Sybil began, "it's such a nice day, I don't want to spend it indoors." She pouted as she glanced out of one of the high windows in the Ghastly Pink Drawing Room. She loathed resorting to such feminine wiles, but it was undeniable that such responses were part and parcel of the feminine armoury against their menfolk. The sun was indeed continuing its inexorable climb up towards the apex of its transit, bathing the grounds of the Ramkin mansion in soft sunlight.

"What would you like to do then, dear?" Sam patiently asked his wife, removing his cigar.

"I'd like to walk down to the Continental Market," Sybil eagerly answered. "I went past it yesterday when we were picking up poor Scruffy." Scruffy had been rescued from a derelict blacksmith's building, undernourished and frightened.

"It looked wonderful, Sam!" Sybil leaned forward pushing aside a stray tendril of her chestnut hair, noting her husband's lack of enthusiasm. "It won't be for long," she encouraged. "Please?"

Sam nodded with a small smile, putting his cigar back in his silver cigar case, unconsciously stroking the smooth metal as he placed it back in his shirt pocket.

"Well then," he stood up and outstretched his hand towards his wife, helping her to her feet. "Shall we?"

* * *

Sybil took a deep, appreciative breath as they strolled down the main thoroughfare between stalls loaded with exotic spices, foodstuffs they couldn't even imagine the name of, small ovens loading the air with rich, warm aromas. Milling crowds buffeted them in an apparently random Brownian motion, the chattering of many different languages keeping the noise level hovering at just below the pain threshold.

"It all looks delicious!" She exclaimed appreciatively, stopping in front of a sweetmeat stall and purchasing a bag of, what looked to Sam like round floury doughballs.

Smiling, she hurried back over to Sam and linked her arm with her husbands. As she looked up at him, Sam felt his face contort into an answering smile. He just couldn't seem to help it when he was around his wife, he simply couldn't deny her anything.

Sybil squeezed his arm tighter as the crowds surged.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, "look, there's a seat!" Sam turned his head, following Sybil's line of sight and saw a small bench in the lee of a small tree. Sybil dug out her recent purchase as they strolled over to the seat and sat down. Sam leaned back and draped his arm around Sybil's shoulders.

"Are you sure you don't want to try one, Sam?" Sybil raised her eyebrows in enquiry as she held one of the doughballs up.

As far as Sam was concerned, food was a strictly no-experimental zone. A lifetime patrolling the streets had given him very strong views on how his food should be served. And it most certainly shouldn't arrive looking the way the morsel was in between Sybil's fingers.

Smiling, Sybil raised her twinkling brown eyes to her husband's bemused ones, as she took a small lick at the sugary coating. Licking her lips, she murmured, "mmm it's very tasty so far, Sam, are you sure…?"

Somehow, Sam had forgotten how to breathe.

Taking another, longer, lick of the sugar, Sybil glanced up at her husband. His eyes were riveted to her mouth. Without taking her eyes from Sam's face, Sybil slowly licked her lips and lightly placed the doughball between her lips as she took a small bite.

"You don't know what you're missing, Sam," she murmured. Sam's fingers reflexively tightened around her shoulder. "It's really very good."

A strangled noise from the man next to her made her smile as she slowly nibbled at the rest of the sweetmeat. Finishing the morsel Sybil licked each of her fingers, sucking the tip of each one as she met her husband's desperate, wide eyes.

As she rolled up the rest of the bag, Sam grabbed his wife's hand and tugged her to her feet, pulling her against him.

"I don't know about you but I want to get you back home,  _right now_ ," Sam growled into her ear.

Who would have thought a trip to the market would have been so….. _productive_?

* * *

_**Yes, I know Sam isn't supposed to be very demonstrative with Sybil, but for the purposes of this story he was happy to put his arm around her :)** _


	13. Gossip or What Sybil Said...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam overhears Sybil chatting to a friend. Surely nothing can go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after Guards! Guards!

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

_Sam overhears Sybil chatting to a friend. Surely nothing can go wrong?_

**Set just after Guards! Guards!**

* * *

**Chapter 13 –** **Gossip** _**or What Sybil Said** _

"So," the other woman said in a conspiratorial tone, picking up her tea cup. "What's been going on with you, Sybil? Haven't seen you since the Sto Lat Royal Show." She grinned at Sybil as the other blushed over the tea tray.

"Rosie," Sybil started, but was interrupted by Rosie Devant-Molei as she continued.

"Actually...you missed Quirm Quarters, AND the Friendly Flamethrowers Fabulous Funday." She peered at her friend suspiciously. "I want answers!" Rosie set her jaw and pushed an errant lock of hair back under the red kerchief that held back her brown hair.

Sybil fiddled nervously with her tea cup, unsure how to begin.

"It's nothing really," she started.

"Let me be the judge of that, Sybil," her friend broke in.

Lady Ramkin allowed her eyes to roam across the front terrace distractedly, not picking up the faint crunching of gravel or identifying it for what it was. The sun was warm on her arms and the idea to bring the cast iron picnic table and chairs onto the front lawn was a very pleasant one.

"I, well, I like someone," Sybil began awkwardly. "I'm not sure he feels the same." She stared back into her tea cup as if it held the answer.

Rosie nodded encouragingly. "Have you given any hint?"

"He's so... _contrary_. Passionate about his beliefs, yet it's obvious he doesn't know what he wants." She sighed heavily. "I spend time with him, yet I'm no closer to knowing what he feels."

"Not unusual for men," Rosie murmured.

"I worry I'm wasting my time, but I can't help how I feel about him," Sybil continued wretchedly.

In the lee of the Ramkin mansion Vimes paused in mid stride. He felt as if his heart was being constricted. Who was this compete imbecile who would overlook such a woman as Lady Ramkin? Then his next thought was abject horror that she liked someone else. Vimes was, unbelievably to some, very shy and insecure in his personal life. Sybil over-awed him in many, many ways and he had spent the majority of their 'companionship' thus far trying to accept that she actually liked him. His eyes widened as he realised the meaning of the words drifting faintly across the now manicured lawn.  _You moved too slowly, Sam, her interest is elsewhere_.  _ **Dream over**_. Struggling to breathe normally, Vimes strained to hear the rest of a conversation he would do anything to unhear yet masochistically he was rooted to the spot.

"I have invited him for dinner time and time again, but he barely talks to me. He makes pretexts about work and always leaves early. For all I know he might already have a girlfriend somewhere," Sybil was saying miserably. "I'm just an old fool, Rosie."

"No, you're not," the other woman said emphatically. "We can't help loving someone. You  _ **do**_  love him...?"

At Sybil's silence, Vimes craned forward around the corner of the house to see the back of Sybil and the side profile of Rosie. He was just in time to see Sybil nod, as her shoulders shook. Rosie leaned forward to soothe her friend.

Vimes closed his eyes as utter despair washed over him.  _She's in love with some complete bastard who runs out on her and doesn't even talk to her and treats her like shit. Gods, if I ever get my hands on him..._ Vimes growled at the thought of Sybil being so upset.  _I'll make him see the error of his ways...down a dark alleyway with no witnesses_. He clenched his fists as Sybil's gentle sobs carried across the lawn.

"I've been in love with him since I first met him, Rosie," Sybil sniffed. "I have to accept he doesn't feel the same." Pulling herself back upright, Sybil cleared her throat as she straightened her clothes. "I got myself into this, I can get out of it." She sighed. "He must  _never_  know." She said the last sentence with conviction.

Beside her, Rosie nodded and squeezed her arm gently before returning to her seat and refilling the tea cups.

As silence returned to the garden, Vimes took a deep breath and, noisily, resumed his steps around the house towards the garden.

His heart contracted painfully as he saw Sybil's washed out smile and too bright eyes. Gods he really wished he knew who the utter low life was that was hurting Sybil, but he knew he couldn't let on he had heard their deeply personal conversation.

Smiling tentatively, Sam greeted both women. "Hi," he frowned slightly as Sybil looked away quickly and Rosie gave him a sharp look.

"Is now a bad time? I can, er, come back another time, er..."

Rosie stood up abruptly. "I must go, Sybil," she smiled at her friend before turning to Vimes. "Captain," she said coldly, as she walked past him.

Vimes wanted to find a hole and climb into it. It wasn't his fault he heard them!

"No, it's fine Sam," Sybil said tiredly.

"Look," he said desperately, "It's ok, really, you look busy I can come back tomorrow or something..." backing away in embarrassment he didn't see the flash of naked hurt in Sybil's eyes as she watched him leave.

Dropping her head and believing Sam to have walked away already, she allowed the tears that seared her soul to fall unhindered. Therefore, her shock was quite profound when a soft, hesitant voice spoke by her ear.

"He's not worth these tears, Sybil."

Looking up quickly, she searched Vimes' face for any hint of self effacement or insincerity, but found only a desperate sort of embarrassment.

"What?" she whispered in disbelief.

Vimes knelt on the grass by her chair, wincing as his joints popped.  _Gods he was too old for this_.

"I, um, heard the conversation, I didn't mean to I was just coming around the side of the house..." his voice tailed off as his face flushed scarlet.

Sybil stared at him, horror edging into her consciousness as her mind registered his words and went and hid.

"I'm sorry," Vimes desperately tried to make amends. "If he's making you this upset, Gods I'm no expert," he floundered. "You deserve better." He tried again, embarrassment at his unexpected position as relationship counsellor causing him to sweat slightly.

Sybil couldn't seem to make her vocal chords work.  _He doesn't know...oh my gods, he doesn't know..._

Vimes could feel even his ears flame.

"Sam?" Sybil asked timidly. At Vimes' look of askance, she took a deep breath. "Do you know who I was referring to?"

"No, but if I find him..." Vimes trailed off, balling his fists menacingly.

Sybil smiled softly, wiping her face. She leaned down so she was closer to Sam. Lifting a hand she gently placed it upon his unshaven cheek.

"It's  _ **you**_ , Sam."

* * *


	14. Patience Is A Virtue or I Miss You...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's carriage is stuck in a queue of carts in the city centre. Inevitably his thoughts turn to Sybil...

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

_Sam's carriage is stuck in a queue of carts in the city centre. Inevitably his thoughts turn to Sybil..._

* * *

**Chapter 14 –** _**Patience is a Virtue** _ **or** _**I Miss You** _

Sir Samuel Vimes groaned theatrically as he stuck his head out of the carriage window to see what the hold up was.  _Just typical_ , he thought glumly.  _One cart overturns and the whole city grinds to a halt_. The sound of irritable shouting floated down the now stationary line of carts and carriages, interspersed with cries and yells of impatience from cart and carriage drivers.

_"What's the bloody hold up?"_

_"I've gotta get these chickens to market, if I don't their egg laying'll be right off..."_

_"I've got a reception to get to, move that cart!"_

_"Look, one of em's laying already..."_

_"If we don't get moving this fruit'll go off..."_

_"Who wants to buy these eggs?"_

_"You know what you can do with your bloody eggs..."_

Vimes dropped back against his seat and tried to block out the now increasing noise. He had hoped to be back home early to surprise Sybil. Now that didn't look like happening. A nice, early night in with his wife was just what he needed, and what their marriage needed, he knew. He worked too long, was away from her alluring softness for too long, and he wanted to make amends by surprising her in the best way he knew.

If he closed his eyes he could picture her now, her smile of delight as he arrived unexpectedly, and widening of her smile as she realised it was just because of her that he was home early.

His arm around her waist pulling her close and breathing in the soft scent of her jasmine shampoo on her silky hair...Vimes grunted as he realised that his thoughts were having a very... _physical_...reaction.

He could feel the gentle touch of her lips upon his, her hands caressing his face as her fingers twined in his hair. Her breasts pressed flush against him and his hands ghosting up and down her body.

Vimes breathed deeply to regain control of his, by now, erratic breathing.  _Gods, this wait was almost unbearable._

A knock on the carriage door startled Vimes out of his erotic reverie.

"Sybil?"

The smiling face of his wife greeted him, as she stepped up into the carriage beside him.

"I called at the Yard as I was rehoming Dusty near there. Fred said you'd already left." She tilted her head slightly as she appraised her husband.

Her glance flickered down.

Sam smiled in resignation. "I was missing you."

Sybil smiled back. "I think I can help you there."

 


	15. Insomnia or Why Sam Can't Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam can't sleep...

**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection**

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

_**Sam can't sleep...** _

* * *

**Chapter 15** _**\- Insomnia** _ **or** _**Why Sam can't sleep** _

The silvery moonlight streamed in through the partially open curtains, bathing the haphazardly strewn bedclothes in its beams. Sam Vimes lay sprawled halfway out of the blankets, one arm thrown behind his head and staring absently at the ceiling, the other hand rubbing his face. He couldn't sleep. Yet, this fact did not seem to be troubling the usually irascible Captain. In fact, if his men could see him now, they would swear that something was different in his countenance, something they had never seen in him before. He seemed... _happy_. Almost content.

Sam didn't know what it was, but it had crept up on him so gradually that when he realised, she had already made him need and want her more than his next breath. Like a thief in the night she had stolen his heart and given him hers in return. The depth of his feelings scared him, if anyone had ever said to him that falling in love would be so  _total_  and overwhelming he would have called them simple and gullible. Yet his entire life and future was her, he would tear down the world to protect her and defend her with his life.

He felt a smile begin to tug at the corners of his mouth and did nothing to stop it widening. Turning his head slightly he glanced at the sleeping figure next to him, reaching out softly so as not to wake her, he gently caressed her shoulder, marvelling at the softness of the porcelain skin. Trailing his fingertips down her bare arm, he turned over and spooned behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and softly kissing her shoulder. As he nestled his face into the crook of her neck, Sybil softly murmured, "Sam? You 'wake?"

"Yes," a gentle nip to her neck.

"Oh," a soft sigh encouraged Sam to tighten his arms and continue his ministrations.

"Mmm..." Sybil's soft moan thrilled him and he rocked gently against her, letting her know the effect she was having on him.

Turning around in his arms, Sybil left him in no doubt that neither of them would be getting any sleep that night.

* * *


	16. Indulgence or Sybil's Downfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sybil has hungry eyes for her husband...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Gratuitous Sam Vimes bare chested-ness!

**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection**

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

**Sybil has hungry eyes for her husband**

_***Warning: Gratuitous Sam Vimes bare chested-ness :D*** _

* * *

**Chapter 16 -** _**Indulgence** _ **or _Sybil's Downfall_**

It was deeply unfeminist. She knew that as well as any woman, but what could she do? Confronted with the sheer amount of naked, finely muscled, perspiring male flesh currently on view, she did what any hot blooded woman would do and feasted her eyes.

Choosing one of the hottest days of the year to try and dig out that stubborn tree stump by the greenhouse perhaps wasn't one of Sam's better ideas, but it definitely was a winner in Sybil's book. He was clad in breeches that ended just above the knee and had stripped his shirt hours before. As she watched he straightened up in the hole surrounding the tree stump and leant on his spade wiping his brow with his forearm. The muscles in his back and shoulders rippled with his movement, the perspiration trickling in rivulets down the planes and valleys of his body. He had a lean Watchman's body, but years patrolling, and fighting in some cases, had bulked his top half out. Bending, he picked the spade back up and his biceps flexed, the sweat gleaming off them in the midday sun.

Sybil shifted slightly from her position by the living room window. Parts of her were beginning to register a distinct interest in the rather delectable view of her husband. She licked her lips as she watched him bending to his task, the sheen of sweat oiling his body gleaming and glistening under the relentless heat of the sun. It was no use. She didn't want to just watch him, she wanted to feel those muscles under her fingertips and smell the musky, fresh perspiration on his skin.

Sybil poured out a fresh lemonade from the iced jug next to her and opened the patio doors. She strolled across the manicured lawn, her eyes still riveted on the figure of her husband industriously toiling in his task.

As Sam straightened up to wipe sweat off his brow, he saw the figure of his wife holding out a cool glass. He took it gratefully, drinking the whole glass in one go. As he handed the glass back, he looked again at his wife. She was staring intently at him, with an almost hungry look on her face.

"Everything ok, Sybil?" He asked experimentally. He thought he knew what the ...issue...was, and the idea was immensely good for his ego, not to mention other parts of his body.

"Oh yes," she murmured. "Just enjoying the view."

She smirked as she looked down at him and as he climbed out of the hole in front of her his eyes darkened as he advanced on her.

"How's the view now?"

Her reply was lost as his mouth descended on hers.

* * *


	17. Trick or Treat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Halloween at Casa Vimes!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know they don't have Halloween on the Disc - the closest is probably Soul Cake Tuesday - but for the purpose of this vignette it exists.

**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection**

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

_**It's Halloween at Casa Vimes...** _

_Young Sam wants to go Trick or Treating. In costume!_

* * *

**Chapter 17 - Trick _or_  Treat**

" _Raaaaaarrrrrr!_ "

The battle-cry disappeared down the landing in a flurry of thudding footsteps, broken only by a brief *busy* pause and heavy thump. Followed by a wail.

Sam Vimes buried his head in his pillow and groaned. Sybil nudged him meaningfully.

"I think the soldier has fallen in battle," she sounded amused.

"I was hoping he'd forget," he sounded mournful.

"He's been looking forward to Halloween for weeks." Sybil turned over in bed and snuggled deeper into the covers, as if that ended the discussion.

"Anyway," she added, "he wants to go Trick or Treating." She made a noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

Sam eyed his wife suspiciously. "I don't have to dress up do I?"

Sybil lifted her head off the pillow. "Of course you do, Sam. It's traditional." She smiled at him.

"So, what treat do I get? Or is it merely a trick?" Sam moved his head closer to Sybil's as he spoke until their lips were almost touching and he was looking into her chocolate brown eyes.

Her lips curled into a sensual smile.

"I'll show you when you get back tonight." Nodding towards the wardrobe on the far wall, she added "Your costume's up there."

~DW~ ~DW~ ~DW~ ~DW~ ~DW~ ~DW~

Sam stared at his reflection in horror.  _The tights_ , he thought.  _I'll even wear the bloody tights, as long as I can get rid of this..._ The dragon's open mouth provided the space for the wearer to place their head, the teeth a squishy plastic and the googly eyes perched atop the whole dreadful ensemble. The body of the costume was heavily pear-shaped so that the bottom swayed around the wearers legs as they walked. The piece-de-resistance, he noted sourly, were a pair of "amusingly" oversized padded monster feet, complete with scales and plastic claws. The only way to walk in them was to walk like a duck. His thoughts continued on their mutinous journey until the bedroom door flew open to reveal a miniature Watchman brandishing a wooden sword in a manner that would make the most psychotic drill sergeant fall down on his knees with gratitude.

"Come on daddy!" Young Sam ran towards his father. "You're the dragon!" He swiped a few times at the padded rump of the scarlet dragon costume whilst making whooshing noises.

He smiled down at his son - the boy's enthusiasm was contagious.

As he waddled past his wife in the doorway, he leaned in and whispered "I'll be collecting my promise when we get back."

Kissing him, she murmured, "I'll be wearing my costume." Patting her husband's cheek she laughed at his stunned expression.

"Your...?"

"Costume, Sam. It's a secret."

~DW~ ~DW~ ~DW~ ~DW~ ~DW~ ~DW~

Turning over in bed, Sybil felt the springs depress next to her and her husband's tired sigh.

"How's the soldier?" She asked smiling in the darkness.

"Sleeping the sleep of someone stuffed full of chocolate and sweets," Sam answered with a chuckle. "He won't take his costume off, and I had to put the sword in bed with him!"

Sybil laughed along with her husband.

Sam turned to face her and, sliding his hand around her waist, murmured "I'm collecting my promise."

As his hand swept up her waist, his brain registered that things felt a little... _different_. Experimentally, he placed his hand higher. Definitely different. Reaching up, he switched on a bedside lamp.

He stared. And stared some more. He smiled.

After all, what was a dragon without a - scantily clad - maiden...

 


	18. Whatever She Wants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something has changed with Sam Vimes...

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

_**Something has changed with Sam...** _

* * *

_**Chapter 18 - Whatever She Wants** _

Captain Vimes fell effortlessly into the tried and tested energy saving policeman's stroll, with Sergeant Colon beside him perspiring gently.

Something was... _different_ about Sam. And Colon couldn't put his finger on what it was. Thinking wasn't something that came naturally to the Colon cranium. His advanced thought processes involved leaping to the nearest conclusion and bunking off for a quick smoke. Nevertheless, something was sufficiently amiss to knock on the door of Colon's consciousness. He glanced sideways at his superior officer. And there it was. In all its gleaming glory. Vimes' breastplate positively shone. Colon inwardly marvelled to himself. Sam wasn't sloppy with his uniform maintenance, but sweating and toiling over his armour wasn't generally what he did of an evening. Actually, now Fred really thought about it, Sam had been behaving oddly for a while. OK so there is that matter of the dragon, which tended to sharpen one's senses, but Fred was feeling uneasy. Him and Sam went back years, and he'd never known him to suddenly change. It gave him the willies.

Take Sam's office, for a start. Sam filed everything into the bin, with the reasoning being that if it was that important then they'd come looking for him. Signing off things that weren't to do with the men's pay didn't happen. Except for the last few weeks, it had. Fred shuffled slightly as his brain began to question the wisdom his thoughts were taking. He couldn't even remember the last time Sam shouted, even when Nobby nicked all the petty cash last week Sam didn't shout. Nobby had been so unnerved he'd had to go and get a pint of Old Peculiar's to calm down. And Sam had just smiled. Speaking of alcohol, he hadn't. Sam hadn't. That was the weirdest thing of all. Sam wasn't drunk. Turning his head to glance at Sam again, Fred felt the first tentacles of an idea. This all started when the dragon appeared. More specifically, when Lady Ramkin appeared. Fred went scarlet as he realised. Sam was in  _ **love**_...

* * *


	19. Work? What Work? or Throwing A Sickie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Sybil wants, Sybil gets...

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

_**What Sybil wants, Sybil gets…** _

* * *

**Chapter 19 – _Work? What work?_  Or  _Throwing a sickie…_**

Sam Vimes, much feared, bad tempered Commander of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch, blearily opened his eyes from his cocoon of softness and, almost unconsciously, snuggled deeper against the warmth of the other person in the bed. His wife stirred as Sam slid his arms around her waist and spooned behind her.

"Mmmm" she murmured. "Well this is a nice way to wake up'."

Sam slowly feathered his hands up and down her waist.

"Good morning," he murmured, and dropped a careless kiss against one silky shoulder.

He couldn't explain what Sybil did to him. He loved her, it was as simple as that. Loving her changed him, gave his life a purpose that it had hitherto not had, made him actually feel that there was a future. That  _he_  was worth loving. In his turn, Sybil was his life. His beloved.  _His_.

In his arms, Sybil sighed softly and turned around to face him.

"Do you have to get up right now?" She asked softly.

What was distracting him was that she was pressing against him, naked. He had an armful of very naked woman, a woman who drove him to distraction just by looking at him, and who, at the moment, was pressing two  _very_  good reasons against getting up for work against his chest.

"I think I might be persuaded to stay here for a while " he whispered back, nuzzling her neck.

Gods, he never thought he'd be made so...so... _soft_  by a woman. But then he'd thought a lot of things wouldn't happen until he met Sybil. Bending his head he kissed her gently, savouring the touch of her lips, the softness of her skin, the curves of her body that his hands could not resist, the taste and smell of her, the complete sensory overload that she generated within him.

"Sam?" She whispered

"Hmmmmm?" He murmured distractedly from the crook of her neck.

"I have a plan for today..."

Sam looked down at her, noting the amused smile. He raised an eyebrow.

"It involves you and me, this bed, and no distractions." Her smile widened as she saw the lascivious look he gave her.

She was expecting an argument, a brief but intense lecture on his responsibilities and his diehard belief that the city would fall to devastation if he wasn't there.

Oh...but hadn't he said? He could never deny her  _anything_.

* * *


	20. Duty or No Words Needed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unwilling Sam reflects on the nature of duty

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

_**An unwilling Sam reflects on the nature of duty…** _

**Chapter 20 – _Duty_  Or No Words Needed**

"No Sam,  _ **absolutely**_  not. Havelock is expecting you to be there." Sybil said firmly as she stared down her husband, hands on hips.

Sir Samuel Vimes, unwilling Duke of Ankh, sighed resignedly. He still couldn't get his head around the fact that someone knew Veterinari well enough to call him by his first name, let alone the man actually possessing one.

"I  _swear_  he does these kinds of things on purpose Sybil, because he knows it'll annoy me," he grumbled.  
"I can't see Havelock arranging a Civic Dinner just to annoy  _ **you**_  Sam," his wife reasoned as she pinned up her hair.

Sam watched his wife's graceful movements, feeling the flood of intense emotion that cascaded over him in such unguarded moments.  
"Well I wouldn't put it past him," he muttered. "The man's a law unto himself. He's the most cynical bastard that ever walked under the sun."  
"Havelock respects you Sam. You can't have a Civic Dinner without one of the most prominent Dukes there."

She smiled affectionately as she saw her husband's face contort in a reactive grimace.

"And," she cautioned as she picked up her delicate clutch, "I don't want a repeat of the last dinner, where you ran out of the hall before the main course was even finished!"  
"He was killing people, Sybil!"  
"But YOU didn't have to go. You have Watchmen to chase criminals, Sam."

 

Sam paused, catching the undertones of her comment.  
"I promise I will try." He reached out and took her hand, squeezing reassuringly, willing the worried pucker of her lips to go. Smiling, she squeezed back.  
"Thank you," she murmured.

 

 _I don't do these things on purpose, Sybil_ , he thought.  _But I can't let these bastards get away, if we let the lesser crimes go then it stands to reason the bigger ones will cease to be important too eventually. One of the nobs called me a thief-taker once, do you remember? Just because Veterinari thought it funny to give me stupid titles doesn't mean my beliefs change. I'll always be a thief-taker. Because it's important. It means there'll always be justice.  
_

Sybil squeezed his hand again. "I know Sam, I know." And kissed him.

 


	21. The Long Day or Back To Sybil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long day, Sam craves being at home with his wife

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

_After a long day, Sam craves being home with his wife..._

* * *

**Chapter 21 –** _**The Long Day** _ **or** _**Back to Sybil** _

* * *

Sam glanced at his, miraculously quiet, disorganizer and dropped his pen in shock. He hadn't realised it was so late. He had been working solidly for 4 hours, before that he had had the dubious pleasure of being summoned to Lord Veterinari's presence and prior to that he had had a meeting with Carrot and Fred about the new recruits and then the new Watch houses opening... There just never seemed to be enough hours in the day.

He sighed heavily, trying unsuccessfully to work some of the tension out of his neck and shoulders. Sybil did a wonderful massage... He closed his eyes momentarily. Memories of a hot bath, her warm hands stroking across his shoulders seemingly finding the taut muscles as if by magic and soothing and caressing softly.  
He grunted, opening his eyes. Unfortunately he was still in his office with piles of unsigned reports staring accusingly back at him.

Making a decision he shoved the disorganizer in his pocket, ignoring the startled cry of the demon inside, and strode out of his office. He marched past the surprised officers, shaking off Carrot's concerned "Sir?" and stepped into his carriage.  
Some things could wait. As far as Sam wad concerned, his wife couldn't.

He sat back in his seat and closed his eyes, Sybil's face appearing before him, smiling that smile she reserved just for him. The one that simultaneously made his heart want to burst and kiss her senseless. Opening his eyes, he realised the carriage had drawn to a halt outside Scoone Avenue. Sam climbed wearily out of the carriage and dragged himself into the house, walking automatically to the drawing room where Sybil stared at him in some surprise at his unusually early hour.

"Sam?" she reached out and gently pulled him down next to her, pushing off his coat. He turned to face her and pulled her into his arms, holding on tight and sighed heavily, feeling the first tendrils of relaxation finally uncurl.  
"Can I get you anything to eat, Sam?" Sybil murmured against his chest  
"No thank you," he whispered against her hair, the silky strands tickling his lips.  
"Do you want to move to the bedroom? It might be comfier" she asked softly.  
"I just want to hold you," Sam said gently, absorbing her quiet warmth, his eyes still closed and head nestled against hers.  
"I can do that," she whispered back, tilting her face to meet his in a soft kiss.

 


	22. C'est L'amour or Love, Actually

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the first wedding anniversary at Casa Vimes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, a little hotter than usual, but nothing graphic.

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that_ _too!_

Rating might increase - so T/M, just in case.

* * *

_**It's the First Wedding Anniversary at Casa Vimes...** _

* * *

**Chapter 22 –** _**C'est l'amour** _ **or** _**Love, actually...** _

Somehow Vimes hadn't been surprised when he discovered that his wife had an incredibly pragmatic attitude to sex. Someone who bred scaly bags of gas for pleasure couldn't be what one would call a prude. Society would have you believe that the upper classes (especially the monied, old family type) were refined, with delicate sensibilities and far beyond the uncouthness of the grubby working classes. How wrong they were. The nobs were the worst of the lot! He had made the mistake more than once of unwittingly opening the wrong door at a party or function, only to quickly retreat whilst trying not to think about who he had seen cheating on whom in there. More than one of Sybil's 'friends' had made it clear they would not be averse to a little covert party action from him, but after a few words to Sybil, she had effectively put a stop to it. He didn't know how she had done it, and he didn't want to know. She was his, he was hers. It was as it should be. That anyone could think he would be so low outraged him. Sybil captivated him like no one had ever before.

Sam turned his face to the woman sitting in front of the dressing table, resplendent in a satin, sleeveless gown of a midnight blue and applying the finishing touches to her makeup. Sybil smiled lovingly through the reflection of the winged mirror at him.

"You look deep in thought, Sam."

He nodded. "I'm thinking how lucky I am."

"I'm the lucky one," she said softly, sighing almost imperceptibly as he rose and stood behind her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder whilst lightly resting his chin on top of her head, gazing at her reflection. She put down her makeup brush and twisted around to face him.

"Why the deep thoughts?" She gazed up at him with a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth and her arms loosely draped around his thighs. He was standing pressed close to her knees, with his hands on her shoulders absently caressing the bare skin.

He shrugged with a lop sided smile. "Nothing really, with it being our anniversary I just thought how lucky I am." He bent his head and kissed her tenderly.

Whilst not an overly demonstrative man in company, when on his own with his wife Sam could make her feel like the most loved woman in the world. Any amount of shoulder patting was worth that.

When he pulled his head back slightly, Sybil placed her hands on either side of his face to stop him pulling away completely.

"You know what, Sam?" She murmured huskily. At his quizzical expression she smiled, deepening into the smile she reserved just for him. "Let's give dinner a miss."

Pressing his lips to hers and straddling the dressing table stool in front of her, Sam pulled her closer, running his hands up her thighs. "I like the way you think," he whispered breathlessly into her ear.

Sybil laughed softly, her chocolate brown eyes darkening with emotion. She swung her legs over the stool and stood up, bending over her transfixed husband as he stared wide eyed at the expansive cleavage she was exhibiting. He made a mental note never to leave her unattended in company, that view was for him alone. Parts of him were reacting enthusiastically to her proximity and he could feel parts of his brain beginning to fuse together as his breathing became quicker.

Sybil, he noted, was affected just as much as him. Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing becoming more rapid. She captured his lips in a deep kiss as his roving hands moved enthusiastically to the front of her dress.

Moving her lips to his ear, she whispered hotly, "Let's see how long it takes you to figure out this dress."

 


	23. Boots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam just couldn't get out of the habit...

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

"... _Take boots for example. He earned thirty eight dollars a month, plus allowances. A really good pair of leather boots cost fifty dollars. But an_ _ **affordable**_ _pair of boots, which were sort of OK for a season or two and then leaked like hell when the cardboard gave out, cost about ten dollars. Those were the kind of boots Vimes always bought, and wore until the soles were so thin that he could tell where he was in Ankh-Morpork on a foggy night by the feel of the cobbles._

_But the thing was that_ _**good** _ _boots lasted for years and years. A man who could afford fifty dollars had a pair of boots that'd still be keeping his feet dry in ten years' time, while a poor man who could only afford cheap boots would have spent a hundred dollars on boots in the same time_ _**and would still have wet feet** _ _._

_This was the Captain Samuel Vimes 'Boots' theory of socio-economic unfairness_."

[Men At Arms]

* * *

_Sam just couldn't get out of the habit..._

* * *

**Chapter 23 –** _**Boots** _

A soft snore pierced the early morning air. Lady Sybil Vimes, Duchess of Ankh, smacked her lips in her sleep and rolled on to her side. Standing beside the bed, Sam had one leg lifted and was frozen in an attitude of surprise, willing his wife to continue with her slumber.

As she relaxed into her pillow once more, Sam gently put his leg back down and, wincing silently as his joints protested, knelt down by his side of the bed. Glancing furtively towards his sleeping wife, he rummaged around until his questing hands found their quarry.

Sam sat back on his haunches and grinned.

* * *

"Good morning, Sam," Lady Sybil greeted her husband with a kiss and took her place at the dining table. A steaming cup of tea was placed before her and a plate of freshly scrambled eggs and toast. Lifting the cup, she appraised her husband slightly suspiciously.

"You look in a good mood this morning, Sam," she remarked.

"Do I, dear?" Sam stared innocently at his wife. "Must have had a good night's sleep."

Lady Sybil was not convinced. "You got up early," she said darkly.

Sam inwardly quailed.  _If police forces were made up of wives we'd all be out of jobs_ , he thought.  _I swear she never woke up. How_ _ **does**_ _she do it_?

"I wanted to get a start on the day," he said mildly. "Trying to read Carrot's reports is a mammoth undertaking on its own."

Lady Sybil smiled wanly over the cruet. "I see."

Vimes husbandly radar kicked in and he detected a less than warm reception at the far side of the table.

"Is, er, everything OK, Sybil"? He asked, suddenly wishing he hadn't rummaged under his bed that morning.

"Now the Watch is so big, Sam, you have much more men, don't you?"

Vimes nodded, unsure where she was taking this.

"Yet you work more and more hours..." she dropped her cutlery on her plate, eyes downcast.

Vimes felt utterly awful.

"I know there's always things to do, things to sort out," she continued. "But you're the only one who stays. I sometimes think you don't want to be here," Sybil's voice cracked.

"No!" He interjected loudly, startling Sybil, and Willikins, who had entered with a fresh tea tray. His eyes strayed to Lady Sybil, who was dabbing her eyes with a tissue, to stare accusingly at Sam, who had leaped from his place.

"Please give us a moment, Willikins." Sam knelt by his wife's chair and took her hands in his. "Of course it isn't that," he said softly. "How could you think that, Sybil?"

"You didn't give me a reason to think otherwise, Sam," she whispered. "You're never here, when I wake up in the night there's always a cold spot next to me..." The ghosts of words unsaid hung in the air.

"Tell you what," Sam smiled encouragingly. "I'll take the day off, and the evening. No calls, no duty. Just me and you."

His heart warmed as he saw his wife's brightening smile.  _How could you neglect her?_ His internal voice chastised him.  _You lose focus and you might lose your wife. You can have both but don't let the balance slide_.

Sam stood up and held his hand out to Sybil who took it and stood up next to him.

"Let's take the tea to the drawing room," he smiled. Sybil nodded and rested her head on his shoulder.

"First of all," she murmured. "Take off those old boots. You thought I wouldn't notice, didn't you?"

Sam stopped for a moment and then burst out laughing.

_How_ _**did** _ _she do it?_


	24. Tough Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An inebriated Sam receives a visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Set during Guards! Guards! when Sam is relieved of his badge and drinks himself into a stupor. This is my take of how Lady Ramkin could have handled things :)

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

**An inebriated Sam receives a visitor...**

* * *

_**A/N: Set during Guards! Guards! when Sam is relieved of his badge and drinks himself into a stupor. This is my take of how Lady Ramkin could have handled things :)** _

* * *

**Chapter 24 –** _**Tough Love** _

Lady Sybil Ramkin frowned. She wasn't a lady much given to uncertainty but she most definitely knew she hadn't seen much of Sam Vimes in the last few days. She had thought that... _never mind_. No use dwelling on that now, all in the past don'tcherknow. He'd made his decision to have nothing more to do with her and his interest had been purely to do with her usefulness as a dragon expert. She had read him wrong.  _No great surprise there then_ , she thought.

To stop herself from dwelling, she decided to update her dragon breeding records. She had allowed herself to get very lax, what with the appearance of the _draco nobilis_ , or noble dragon.  _And what a beauty it was_ , she thought. Her eyes flickered to the chair that Sam had sat in, on his first visit to her house. She hadn't been able to stop talking, she knew she had been talking nonsense, in an effort to make him stay longer. Something about him had resonated with her on such a fundamental level that she had thought he must have... _stop_. Lady Ramkin shook her head and cursed softly. She had just labelled one of the hatchlings as Sam. She smiled slightly.  _Well, why not, Sam is a good strong name, and who knows he might grow up to be Champion and Sire of Champions_.

A faint ringing in the distance indicated that someone was at the front door. Lady Ramkin ignored it and reached for her glass of wine as she turned the page to begin a new bloodline.

"Your Ladyship?" The refined tones of Willikins interrupted her.

"Yes, Willikins?" Lady Ramkin didn't look up.

"There's a Corporal Nobbs at the front door," the butler's lip curled in distaste. "I tried to send him to the kitchen entrance but he  _insisted_ that he knew you."

Lady Ramkin blinked. Corporal Nobbs?

"Oh yes," she laughed. "My grandfather had his grandfather flogged years ago. I remember. Send him through please." She closed her records and picked up her glass again, wondering what on earth the Watchman could want with her. What if it was about Sam? Before she could think any further, Nobby Nobbs had sidled into the room.

"'Ello, Your Ladyship," Nobby saluted.

"Good Evening, Nobby." Lady Ramkin smiled. "What can I do for you?"

Nobby fidgeted uncomfortably. He wished he hadn't lost the bet and had to come up here to Lady Ramkin. Why on earth would she do anything to help the Captain?

"Er...well..." He coughed, uncomfortably. "It's about the Cap'n, Your Ladyship."

Lady Ramkin blinked.

"He, er, well, I reckon he's... _er_. He's on the drink again, Your Ladyship." Nobby fiddled desperately with his helmet, twisting it around in his hands. "When you was with us he din't drink as much, er. We were wondering if you could, sorta, talk to him?"

"Talk to him?" She echoed. "I'm not sure what use that would be, Corporal Nobbs."

"Me and the lads," Nobby went red. Well, as much as could be discerned under all of his dermatological ailments. "We noticed he din't drink as much when you was 'ere, like. Like you affected him...you know?" Nobby looked wretched. "It might work? No one's been able to get through to him since they took his badge, and that's the truth!"

Lady Ramkin sighed and drained her glass of wine.

"Lead the way," she informed the little Corporal.

* * *

The small room was dark, the thin, tattered curtains blowing gently in the night time breeze. The smell of stale alcohol assaulted Lady Ramkin's senses as she stood on the threshhold, and listened to the heavy snoring emanating from the prone man inside. Even in this fallen state she couldn't help her stomach fluttering. She took a deep breath as she stepped inside, blinking to accustom her eyes to the gloom.

What she saw startled her a little. The room was bare save for a basic cot, a spindly bedside table, an even more spindly chair and one small chest at the foot of the cot. Her eyes flickered to the man on the bed. He was on his back, unshaven, empty bottle of Bearhuggers clutched to his side. He was still in his Watch uniform, stained and tattered. His unbeaten pride reminded her strongly of the Ramkin menfolk.  _Never beaten, even when they're down_.

She strode forward in a business-like manner and gently prised the bottle out of his unresisting fingers. A cursory search revealed 2 more bottles that she took downstairs and poured into the gutter. Striding into the Watch office, she asked Fred Colon to brew a fresh pot of coffee and to bring it upstairs with a couple of mugs.

Back upstairs, she set about preparing a nice hot bath and located some clean towels. She pulled together the small amount of dirty laundry in Vimes' room and folded them neatly to one side, ready to take with her to wash.

Fred Colon stuck his head into Vimes' room and raised the coffee pot slightly. She nodded to Vimes' bedside table and thanked the Sergeant.

 _Now for the awkward bit_ , she thought to herself.

She sat on the edge of Vimes' cot and bit her lip as she extended one hand and gently shook his shoulder.

"Sam?" She shook his shoulder again, slightly harder.

"mno i don wanna fish..."

"Sam?" She repeated slightly louder.

Suddenly he pulled her hand and Lady Ramkin, not expecting any resistance, fell against him.

"mmm like you..." he mumbled, his arms locking around her.

"Sam!" Lady Ramkin struggled, eventually breaking free, as Vimes blearily blinked awake to be greeted with a dishevelled Lady Ramkin sprawled on his bed.

"Wha' hap'n?" Vimes swallowed, grimacing, and tried again. "What happened?"

He focused his eyes on Lady Ramkin.

"You!"

Lady Ramkin glowered back. "I was asked to come here," she said tartly.

"Here," she pushed a mug towards him. "Coffee, as hot as if it had just come off the dragon." She smiled slightly.

"And there's no use looking for more booze, either," she said as he took the mug. "I threw it all away."

Vimes spluttered and shook in incoherent rage.

"You had no right to do that!" He shouted. "You had no right to come into my room at all, no right to go poking around and no right to throw my things away!"

"Because you are doing so well on it, aren't you!" She shot back. "Your men are worried about you, doesn't that mean anything?"

"It's no one elses business what I do! I haven't even got a job so no, I don't care what they think!"

"Do you really think no one cares?"

Something in Lady Ramkin's voice got through to him, and he stared at her.

"Why?" He croaked.

She refilled his mug with coffee, and topped up her own.

Cradling the mug, she spoke so softly Vimes had to lean forward to hear her.

"From the first moment, Sam. From the first moment." She glanced up and saw his incredulous face.

"There's a hot bath for you."

Standing up, Vimes drained his coffee and gestured towards the door.

"Will you...I mean...when I get out..." he trailed off.

Lady Ramkin smiled at him.

"I'm not going anywhere Sam."

For the first time, Vimes felt a genuine smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

And he realised he hadn't thought about the Bearhuggers for at least 5 minutes. Maybe it  _ **would**  _work.

* * *


	25. Favours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam receives a proposal.

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

_**Sam receives a proposal...** _

* * *

_**Chapter 25: Favours** _

* * *

" _...ande it is too thys ende that I.._."

His Grace, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes found himself rereading the same line again and again of the report in front of him. Throwing his pen down in frustration he strode to the door of his office and wrenched it open, annoyance radiating off him in waves.

"Will someone kindly tell me what the hell is going on here?"

He bellowed over the din in the main office. As one, all of the occupants turned to face the furious Commander, falling silent as they did so. The tableau presented to Vimes would have amused him if he hadn't been so annoyed.

Sergeant Colon was manning the main desk, a young dark haired lady was clearly in the process of arguing with him, with Mrs Palm from the Guild of Seamstresses attempting to shove her out of the way, whilst Nobby was in the process of leading a surly youth to the cells who looked like he had lost an argument with a steel toe-capped boot.

"Sir Samuel! Will you please inform this..." Rosie Palm's eyes glanced disdainfully at the young woman in front of her, " ... _lady_ , that she cannot 'entertain' without being a member of the Guild! Where would we be if everyone took it upon themselves?!"

"Spending more time in your own beds, perhaps?"

Vimes murmured. Mrs Palm shot him a  _look_.

"We aim to provide satisfaction. Very accurately, if required," she said haughtily.

Vimes raised his hands.

"OK, OK. Look, Miss...er... Mrs Palm is quite right. Guild law dominates. What is your name, by the way?"

The young woman glared at Mrs Palm as the other woman smirked, before turning to Vimes.

"Selynna. That is my boyfriend you've just arrested!"

"Guilty as hell just by looking at him," Vimes said promptly.

Vimes turned to go back into his office, but before he could, Selynna ran from the front desk and up the steps to Vimes' office. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Vimes exclaimed in surprise.

Selynna stepped closer to him.

"I'll do  _anything_  if he could be released," she purred. She raised a coy eyebrow.

"I'm sure we could come to some...  _mutually acceptable_... arrangement."

Selynna was so close she was almost touching Vimes.

Vimes' face went blank. Mrs Palm winced involuntarily, and both Nobby and Colon exchanged a worried look.

"The only reason you're not joining your young man in the cells on a bribery charge is because you must be new here." Vimes told the surprised and discomfited young woman.

Vimes walked fully into his office and around his desk, leaning on his hands. "I don't need to wear a wedding ring for people in this city to know who I am or who my wife is."

He levelled a cold glare at Selynna. "Get out of my sight before I change my mind and charge you."

 _Ye gods_ , he thought to himself as the door closed behind her.  _Did she really think she could...?_

Making up his mind, Vimes strode out of his office and into the main office, snatching up his oilskin cloak.

"I'm taking the rest of the day off." he glared at the assembled officers, daring them to comment.

"Yessir," Colon said obediently.

"Do not disturb me, unless the entire city goes up in flames. I mean it," he added warningly.

* * *

As Vimes headed through the city, his pace increased until he hit Scoone Avenue at a dead run. Breathlessly he opened the door, threw his cloak at Willikins as he searched for his wife, finally finding her in the Ghastly Pink Drawing Room frowning over drafts of a new edition of  _Diseases of the Dragon_.

"Thank gods," Vimes breathed as he made his way to an astonished Sybil.

"Sam? Whatever's the matter?"

Sybil put her hands on his arms as he pulled her upright and enveloped her in a deep embrace, burying his face in the side of her neck and breathing deeply.

"People, Sybil. Just...people."

"Oh," she murmured.

Wisely, she decided not to comment, realising correctly that he did not want to talk. Instead she ran her hands up his arms and slipped them around his neck, tugging him closer. Raising his head slightly, Vimes rested his forehead against hers, smiling slightly.

"Whatever did I do to deserve you," he said softly.

Smiling, Sybil answered just as softly. "You made me your wife. I could not ask for any more."

As their lips connected, the outside world drifted away.

* * *


	26. Socks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam reflects on the intricacies of married life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Pure Squee!***

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

*****pure squee*** Sam reflects on the intricacies of married life...**

* * *

**Chapter 26 - Socks**

* * *

His Grace, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes, Duke of Ankh, closed the heavy front door behind him of his residence at Scoone Avenue and sighed softly. It was, thus far, an unusual day in that the day had been quiet and uneventful, and, somewhat out of the ordinary for him, he was home early.

As the door clicked shut behind him, his ears pricked up. He quailed. A rhythmic clicking sound could be heard from the drawing room down the hall. Vimes' feet began to itch in pavlovian sympathy. They always itched. He swallowed hard.

"Sam? Is that you?"

His wife called out, her voice floating out from what Vimes would eternally call the Ghastly Pink Drawing Room.

"Yes dear, just taking my cloak and boots off."

As Vimes turned around to walk down the hall, a little tornado in a mini Watch uniform flew towards him. "Daddeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" Young Sam hung on Vimes' legs around his knees as his father laughed, ruffling the boys hair.

"Sorry Sir," Willikins appeared, holding a small bowel.

"Go and finish your tea, Sam, I'll see you shortly,"

"I'm having an egg," Young Sam told his father solemnly.

"Good, good" Vimes murmured as he got closer to the clicking sound with dread.

As young Sam ran off with Willikins, Vimes stood outside the drawing room and took a deep breath.

"Hello dear," Vimes crossed the drawing room to his seated wife and kissed her lovingly.

"Hello Sam," she responded smiling at him.

Glancing at the clock, she murmured, "You're home early!"

"Fairly quiet day today actually," Vimes replied, settling next to his wife on the sofa.

"What, er, is that going to be?" Vimes gestured to the lumpy pile of knitting resting in his wife's lap. Beaming, Lady Sybil picked it up. "New socks for you Sam! I chose the colour especially!"

She looked so pleased that Vimes could not bring himself to say anything.

"Thank you dear," he murmured and kissed her.

And the reason why Sam Vimes puts up with his lumpy, itchy, mismatched socks is because he worships Lady Sybil and telling her her socks were unbearable would break her heart. Vimes knew that Sybil did this out of an idea that it was her wifely duty to do so and he appreciated the sentiment and the effort that it took her to do so. Even if it meant buying boots 1 1/2 sizes too big, Vimes would never ever tell his wife.

As Sybil held up her latest knitting massacre, Vimes nodded in approval, smiling at his wife and lovingly kissed her.

* * *


	27. Stockings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Hogswatch at Casa Vimes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea whether stockings are hung at Hogswatch, but they are now :)

_**Chapter 27 - Stockings** _

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

_**It's Hogswatch at Casa Vimes** _

* * *

_**Note: did they have stockings on Discworld? I can't remember... They are for the purposes of this. It's shameless, slightly AU fluff and squee.** _

* * *

"Snouter, Gouger, Tusker, Rooter!"

The chanting travelled down the landing in a kind of Doppler echo, bouncing back on itself, accompanied by the thudding of feet. A loud announcement was made through the bedroom door.

"I'm looking for hog poo!"

Inside the bedroom, both Sam and Sybil's eyes flew open and they turned to stare at each other.

"I hope he doesn't find any!"

Sam shuddered. Not for the first time, they wondered where on the Disc he got his ideas from.

Sybil snuggled back down, cuddling into her husband.

"Happy Hogswatch Sam."

She kissed him softly and slowly, smiling against his lips as she felt him reciprocate.

"Happy Hogswatch, dear," Sam murmured back, sliding his arms around his wife.

* * *

A little while later and lots of wrapping paper, ribbons, boxes and cards were strewn across the floor by the large Hogswatch tree that dominated the room.

Sybil was trying on a beautiful new coat Sam had brought her and was in raptures over a first edition of the first ever book on dragon breeding ever published.

 _Draco Reptilia_  was harder to get hold of than a refund from CMOT Dibbler.

Young Sam was methodically opening and shutting every draw on his new botanical set and then put it carefully to one side to race his new toy horse across the room.

Sprawling across the floor, young Sam pointed to the fireplace.

"Mummy," he began.

"Yes, Sam?"

"There's..." he hesitated. "4 stockings, mine, daddy has one, you've got one. What's the last one?"

Sybil turned smiling to her husband. "I don't know yet."

Sam closed his eyes in shock.

_**Oh gods...** _

* * *


	28. The Genuan Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam disgraces himself. Is there any way back?

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

_**Chapter 28 - The Genuan Incident** _

* * *

_**Vimes disgraces himself. Is there any way back from this?** _

* * *

His Grace, the Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes, lurked by the buffet table, making sure to keep his wife in his line of sight. He would cheerfully have ripped his teeth out rather than endure this civic function that required both him and Sybil to attend at the Patrician's Palace in honour of the Genuan Ambassador. And therein lay the problem. The Genuan Ambassador was getting along rather too well with Sybil for Vimes' liking. He had monopolised her for the last three dances - Vimes had counted - and when they weren't dancing, he was hanging on her every word. At times like this Vimes wished more than ever for a drink. A drink that never had an end apart from the anaesthetising arms of oblivion.

Vimes crumpled his paper plate in his balled up fist, ignoring the remains of the food that fell to the highly polished floor.

"Smile, please!" A flash momentarily blinded Vimes as Otto Chriek,  _Times_  iconographer, crumpled to the floor in a shower of dust, followed by an almost inaudible tinkle of breaking glass. A minute later and Otto resurfaced, brushing his cloak down.

Vimes levelled his best snarl at the vampire, who quickly turned his pale gaze to the dance floor. He visibly brightened as the Genuan Ambassador and the Duchess of Ankh rumba'd by. A flash, a shriek and a minute later Otto reappeared once more.

"Front page, your Grace," Otto happily told Vimes, as he trotted past, cloak rattling with iconograph paraphernalia, seemingly oblivious to the growl that Vimes levelled at him.

Vimes ignored the vampire and turned his baleful glare to the Genuan Ambassador. He had a nasty feeling he was about to do something that would get him thrown out.

* * *

The Duke and Duchess of Ankh sat side by side in their coach as it rattled homewards, the atmosphere cooling between them with every step. Their exit from the party had been somewhat premature, precipitated by the rather regrettable incident of Vimes punching the Genuan Ambassador.

"I don't suppose you fancy telling me why you hit the ambassador, Sam?" Sybil asked in a distant voice.

Vimes grunted. Sybil sighed.

"There must be a reason. You were sulking ever since we got there."

Vimes glowered.

"Fine," Sybil snapped as the coach drew up to the house. "I'm going straight to bed."

She slammed the coach door behind her. Vimes sank into his seat and pulled out a cigar. He knew he shouldn't have hit the man, but his patience had been tried right from the beginning. He didn't know how they did things in Genua, but he was damned sure monopolising another man's wife wasn't the norm, much less expecting the husband to sit back and allow it.

Personally he thought being blamed for the ensuing chaos was a little unfair. How was he to know the bastard had an armed entourage? It was a miracle Detritus didn't set off his Piecemaker. Perhaps an apology would get him back in Sybil's favour. Vimes extinguished his cigar and climbed out of the coach, stopping to inform Willikins the offside coach door now had a loose hinge due to, er, overenthusiastic handling by Her Ladyship.

"Sybil?"

*silence*

...

*rustling of blankets*

"Sybil?"

"What  _is_  it Sam?"

"Er..."

"You embarrassed me this evening Sam. And you can't even give me an explanation?"

Vimes fidgeted uncomfortably.

"He was all over you like a rash, Sybil. It was disrespectful of you as my wife."

"You were jealous?"

"He was bloody obvious!"

"Sam, really!"

"He was winding me up..." Vimes muttered.

"Sam Vimes, you were jealous!" Sybil smiled in the darkness.

"You don't need to find it quite so amusing," Vimes said in a pained voice.

Sybil turned to face her husband and ran her hand down his cheek.

"Sam?"

"Mmm?"

"Have you ever thought of growing a beard?"

"Huh? No, why?"

"I'll show you..."

* * *


	29. The Hogswatch Party or What Sybil Did

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A party leads to revelations...

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

_Chapter 29: The Hogswatch Party_ _**or** _ _What Sybil Did_

* * *

Willikins the butler entered the Ghastly Pink Drawing Room bearing a card on a silver platter. With a brief bow, he presented it to Lady Sybil and discreetly withdrew. Putting down her dragon records she opened the envelope. A small smile played about her lips as she glanced over the top of the card at her blissfully unaware husband. She tapped the card absently against her chin before picking up a pen and writing a brief note. Glancing again at her husband, she rang the bell. As Willikins entered, she gave him a whispered instruction and handed him the note. To his credit, Willikins did not display any emotion, but his shoulders appeared to be laughing as he left.

* * *

"Good Evening Sam," Sybil greeted her husband a few days later. "I need to talk to you for a second?"

Sam kissed his wife as he undid his oilskin cape and took off his boots, surreptitiously wriggling his toes in the socks Sybil had knitted for him. He followed her to the dining room as one of the maids laid his dinner plate in front of him.

"What do you want to talk about, dear?" Sam enthusiastically attacked his bacon which shattered satisfactorily beneath his fork.

"Well, I know it's not your thing really Sam, but I think it'd be fun..." Sybil began. Sam put his fork down and stared at his wife. He already didn't like the sound of whatever it was. Sybil ploughed on.

"It's a Hogswatch party," she said brightly.

"That doesn't sound too bad," he said cautiously. "What's the catch?"

"It's fancy dress."

"No. No, no, no. Absolutely not. No."

* * *

"Look, if you choose your costume Sam, you can make sure it's one you're happy with."

Sybil smiled at her husband. What could he say but agree when she looked at him like that? He sighed.

"I suppose the Hogfather one isn't so bad? But I refuse to be dressed as the helper or a boar!"

Sybil nodded. "I'll go and book them." She leaned over and kissed him. "If I go now they can put them aside. It says here that they can send them up to the house so we don't need to worry about remembering to pick them up."

Sam grunted. Bloody fancy dress party! One of Sybil's friends was behind it, Lady Selachii or some such. Probably did it just so Sam had to be in fancy dress. It made Sybil happy so he couldn't complain too loudly. Truth be told he'd walk into hell for her and everyone knew it. All he had to do was wear a red coat for a few hours, job done. He focused on his report as he gradually forgot about the party.

* * *

Sam stepped out of his bathtub after a long day, feeling refreshed. He wrapped the fluffy towel Willikins had left out for him around his waist and padded through to the bedroom where he discovered his wife holding a large box.

"What's that?" Sam asked as he perched on the edge of the bed.

"I think it's our Hogswatch Party costumes," Sybil answered as she examined the box. Sam made a non-commital noise, as he watched his wife suspiciously.

"Oh my..." Sybil glanced up quickly at her husband and back down to the open box in front of her.

"What? What?" Despite himself, Sam was starting to feel panicky.

Thinking quickly, Sybil tried to smooth the waters.

"It's not  _too_  bad, really, when you think of what it  _could_  have been...um..." she faltered.

" _Sybil_...tell me what's happened!" Sam said urgently.

"Er..."

" ** _Sybil_**!"

* * *

" _ **The Duke and Duchess of Ankh!**_ "

"I'm going to get you for this," Sam hissed to his wife as they descended the steps to the party.

Maintaining her bright smile, Sybil answered "hardly my fault Sam. It is obviously a mix-up."

Sam glowered.

"Let's get a drink shall we?" Sybil steered her husband towards a long table laden with refreshments. Sam shuffled forlornly towards the food at the other end of the table, jingling softly.

"How  _did_  you manage it, Sybil?" Lady Selachii appeared at Sybil's elbow with an admiring look on her face. "You look fabulous, by the way darling," she fingered the silk skirt of Sybil's 'Mrs Hogfather' costume, admiring the red corset style top with fluffy white edging around the low cut neckline. The red cape was fastened to the shoulder straps and swept around her ankles, set off with black heeled boots.

"You have  _no_  idea what I had to sacrifice!" Sybil answered with a laugh. "You owe me ten dollars, by the way," she added mischievously. A noise made her turn around and she saw the glaring figure of her husband, ensconced in his green and red skintight elf costume, having clearly heard everything.

"You are in  _so_  much trouble," he muttered as Sybil looked bashfully into her glass.

"How about if I make it worth your while?"

"Meaning?"

Leaning closer, Sybil whispered into his ear. A slow smile spread across Sam's face.

"Worth it?"

"Definitely worth it..." he squeezed Sybil closer against him. He felt some familiar stirrings. Grabbing her hand, he began tugging her towards the exit.

"Sam?" Sybil laughed.

"I'm collecting my promise  _now_ ," he whispered into her ear. "You've got me all worked up and I can't wait!"

"Neither can I," she whispered back with a naughty smile.

 


	30. Sybil Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam discovers the unexpected.

_**Behind Closed Doors – the Sybil & Vimes Collection** _

_FLUFF alert…OK, I can't resist this! I plan on doing a series of vignettes, each complete in itself and centring on Sybil and Vimes' relationship. The idea is to capture little scenes in their life, hopefully keeping in character. Some may have a piece of music as a theme, some might not, it depends how the muse takes me._

_If this idea is so much marsh gas, let me know. If it's a good idea, let me know that too!_

* * *

**_Chapter 30: Sybil Dreams_ **

_Sam discovers the unexpected…_

* * *

Most unusually these days, Sybil had gone to the party herself. Sam mentally congratulated himself for managing to get out of it and for still having his head attached to his shoulders. Actually the reason was a genuine one, Sybil had understood and asked him to come with the coach later in the evening. Sam had readily agreed, the thought of not being able to be there to see Sybil home safely was an unpleasant one. He wasn't even sure what the party was, one of the many interminable ones that filled up every Social calendar. Sam shuddered at the capital 'S'.

He leaned forward and looked out of the carriage window. People were beginning to congregate around the door of the large house, ladies with wide, fake smiles, men with equally fake handshakes – a breeding ground for adultery and alliances. Or make that dalliances. As always, he mentally removed his wife from these scenarios.

A knock on the window startled him slightly. Smiling, he opened the door and Lady Sybil climbed in bearing a large smile and an even bigger kiss. She laughed at his expression.

"Sam, you look so adorable like that!" Sybil giggled as she sat back in the seat.

Sam turned to stare at his wife, speechless.

"Are you, I mean, did you have a bit to drink, dear?" Sam deliberately kept his voice neutral. The thought of his wife being even a little bit drunk was novel.

"The wine list was surprisingly good, it would have been criminal to not have tried them all," Sybil replied airily. "And I am in full control of myself, thank you very much!" She leaned forward and took her husband's arm, nestling her head against his shoulder. "Maybe I'll just close my eyes for a moment…" Sam looked down at her and chuckled.

* * *

Sybil yawned and stretched. Her head felt foggy but she remembered that she had had several glasses of wine from that rather excellent wine list at that incredibly boring party. Lucky Sam managing to get out of it, she smiled to herself. Speaking of Sam…she looked around her in some surprise.

She didn't remember going on holiday, but she was most definitely sitting on golden yellow sand. Looking down she saw that she was wearing a bathing suit and the warm sun was soothing her limbs. The waves of the deep blue sea provided a background lull that was making her eyes drift back closed….until someone emerged, dripping, from the surf. Someone wearing a very small pair of breeches and making a beeline for her.

Sybil sat up, suddenly wide awake, as she watched the figure with breathless anticipation. Sam pushed his wet hair back, the sea water cascading in rivulets down his lightly muscled chest and shoulders, his step never faltering as he neared his wife. Her large bosom was encased in a tight bathing suit, leaving very little to his already over-active imagination.

Sam stood over his wife, smiling slightly as she held his gaze. His stomach crunched slightly as he breathed, the drops of water trickling lazy paths down his stomach and legs. Her eyes lingered on his chest, the fine dark hairs tapering down into a line that went beyond the waistband of his breeches. The strong, lean limbs that she loved so much, with their dusting of dark hair invitingly within reach.

She couldn't stand it anymore. She lifted a hand to him and tugged him down on the sand next to her. Before Sam could say anything, his wife's lips were on his, tasting the saltiness of the seawater and feeling the moisture on his skin.

"Sybil," he breathed.

"Sam," she whispered back, against his lips.

"Sybil," this time it was louder.

_Why was he raising his voice?_

" **Sybil!** " Now he was shaking her shoulder.

"Sam? What are you doing?" Sybil mumbled.

"Sybil!" She could no longer feel sand underneath her….in fact it felt very much like bedsheets. As she blinked in confusion, her husband's face swam into view.

"What?"

Sam laughed at the expression on her face. "You fell asleep in the carriage. I don't know what you were dreaming but you were talking about sand and water."

He leveled a smouldering gaze at her as her lips quirked up.

"Would you like me to show you?"

* * *


	31. No Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sybil shows Sam the true meaning of relaxation.

　

 **Rating** : K+/T

* * *

His Grace, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes, the Duke of Ankh, protective father, more usually absent husband, and holder of residual guilt for aforementioned absences, stared blearily into his mirror over the wash basin. Unfortunately the face staring back was his. Very definitely his. He grimaced as he saw the stubble adorning his features and wondered exactly what time he'd staggered back home, almost delirious with lack of sleep.

He knew he'd read to young Sam at 6 on the dot and then had run straight back out..... everything else segued into one long cloud of exhaustion and fog.

When was the last time he had actually stopped for more than 2 seconds to speak to his wife? Or, more pertinently, spent _any_ time with her? Of the _evening in_ variety? He sighed and let his hand that was holding the razor drop into the basin with a _splosh_. He felt the familiar tendrils of guilt settle over his shoulders as he tried unsuccessfully to erase his wife's face from the inside of his eyelids.

"I know, I _know_..." He hissed to himself.

She never asked, never argued, always accepted the demands of his job with boundless good grace. The guilt was _his_. All of it.

He slowly opened his eyes and saw that the water had turned pink. Slow ribbons of darker colour were snaking out of his clenched fist, the nails of which were biting into his palm so hard they were drawing blood.

Vimes swore and jerked his hand out of the water, wrapping the towel around his palm and deciding to abandon his shaving. He hadn't even really got started, merely given himself a wash before dropping his razor into the water.

Soft hands landing on his shoulders made him start with surprise. As he turned his head, the hands began a gentle massage on the backs of his shoulders and a light kiss landed on the back of his neck.

"You're so tense," his wife murmured into his ear, continuing the gentle kneading with her fingers. "You need to relax." She punctuated the words with soft kisses on the back of his neck, knowing what a sensitive area it was for Vimes. Vimes could only stand, gaping stupidly, as the delicious melting of his tension flowed out of him, counterbalanced by the tingling of her light kisses. Unbidden, his bloodied towel dropped next to the wash basin as his brain decided to concentrate on more exciting parts of his anatomy, and his arms reached behind him for his wife, desperate to feel the soft curves. It felt like such a long time since he had looked at his wife like this...

One of her hands dropped from his shoulder as she pressed against him, her hand snagging his bloodied one and gently opening his fingers. A soft pressure on the palm, grazing the indentations his nails had left, made him gasp as he realised she was softly kissing the self inflicted injuries. The insistent pressure against his back was making it hard for him not to respond - her breasts were pressed flush against him and his fingers itched to caress the warm, heavy flesh.

"Sybil..." he whispered, chest tight with _oh so many_ things he wanted, _needed_ , to say to her.

She dropped his hand and, with a light pressure on his shoulder, turned him around to face her. Vimes' breathing had quickened with the soft, gentle, and above all, _loving_ , pace she had set. Her expressive chocolate eyes were warm with a myriad of emotions and she lifted her hand, lightly brushing her fingers across his parted lips. _No words_.

Sybil stepped closer, running soft fingers down his scarred chest and abdomen, washing away his impurities and imperfections with the purity of the love that shone from her eyes. Slowly, she leaned in to him, lips closing and touching, her message clear.

_Let me show you. Let me love you. I love you._


End file.
